‘... bringin’ three young women through Vallejo’s lines!... Sap-heads, you fellows. It’s running out of your ears!’
‘I’m not takin’ no free talk from no oil man,’ growled Slim.
Cal mildly broke in. ‘Now as to that, Mister—’
‘Can’t you see we’ve got a war on?’ the blocky one in the doorway yelled. ‘Can’t you see they’re twenty to one, tryin’ to get our oil wells?’ His face had turned sidewise; light fell upon the uncovered, close-cropped head—massive jaw, thin lips and startlingly familiar blue eyes. Around that roaring neck from behind, a pair of white arms were flung at this instant, ‘Mexicali’s’ fury shut off:
‘But Papa! I keep telling you it was all my fault!’
Florabel had the floor, but another figure had moved into the light behind her. ‘You see, Mr. Burton, when we three wouldn’t turn back, they rode along with us, to protect us.’ That was Mary Gertling. So they had all reached the cabin.
Elbert still felt confused. Slim’s voice broke in now, stern with dignity. ‘Seein’ as there’s no further need for us to be engaged in protectin’—otherwise we might ride on—’
Another rip. ‘... ride on what? Ride on where? Don’t you see we’re surrounded?’
‘Papa!’
‘Mexicali’ slowed down to bellow orders to his men, both Mexicans and Americans hurrying in and out. He rang bells in both languages. Meanwhile Cal and Slim had entered the lamp-lit quarters, and Elbert followed, meeting the eyes of Mary Gertling. Still those eyes hadn’t broken into tears; still that inexplicable stillness around her—the same faint trace of a smile, as in the first moment in Nacimiento.